tracy_loo_who | Fic: And I Will Walk On Water (11/18)

First of all, ♥♥♥ to

yamapea for the LJ gifts! Eeeee, THANK YOU!

Highlight of my day, though? The Forty-First Year (Reimagined) by

strangeandcharm. BIRTHDAY SCHMOOP. For me! (And it's not even technically my birthday yet!) Please go read it and BE AWED by the fact that I caused the whump queen herself to write schmoop. I mean, this is monumental, right? XD

Also, I wrote some fic today too:

Title: And I Will Walk On Water (11/18)
Characters: Dean and Castiel, Sam, Michael
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,900
Summary: In which Dean is content, until he has to let it all go.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Having Castiel back felt really, really good. Really. It felt really, really good. Sometimes Dean would glance over at him, looking all quiet and solemn a little ways away, and not realize his lips were pulled into a tiny smile until he caught Sam smirking at him. Then Dean would glare at his little brother, daring him to say something about it, because he'd already been caught and would only look like a pussy if he tried to pretend he hadn't been staring (and smiling). Sam's smirk would only widen, but he always kept his mouth shut. Castiel usually just looked between them in mild curiosity and didn't understand.

Sam didn't understand it either, actually; Dean was sure his little brother was imagining him having pervy angel thoughts or something, but that wasn't true at all. Castiel had been back for a few days now and Dean hadn't once fantasized about feeling him up. Now that he knew what Castiel was like, sexually, Dean... really didn't want to go there. Or maybe it was just that the whole kiss debacle and his own promise that he wouldn't try anything again had put Castiel well and truly out of Dean's reach. He didn't have any more illusions, even fleeting ones, that Castiel might want him back in that capacity, so it was easy for Dean to slip back into his status quo of ignoring his wants.

It was best this way, actually, because this way, Dean could be content with what he had. And what he had was a best friend who, against his better judgment, Dean was beginning to trust would stick around. He finally felt himself let go of the subconscious but persistent fear that Castiel would eventually see the ugliness in him that belonged back in Hell and turn away in disgust, or that Castiel would be so disappointed in Dean's failures that he would give up on him. After all, Castiel had seen Dean in Hell -- seen him at his darkest and ugliest -- and had thought him worth saving. And then Castiel had given everything so Dean could have a chance to save the world, and he'd failed, and still, Castiel had come back. He'd even stayed when he'd thought worse of Dean than what was actually true, and he'd told Dean in as many words that he couldn't let him go. Dean wasn't sure what he could do that would drive Castiel away.

So he had to conclude that maybe there was nothing, and that he'd finally found someone who wouldn't leave him. It was nothing short of exhilarating, and made all the more so by its novelty. Dean had never had this in his life, because even Sam -- his very own Sammy -- had left him before, for colleges and human girlfriends and even demon girlfriends, and even before he'd left that first time Dean had always known his little brother had wanted a normal life. If by some miracle they both survived this apocalypse, Sam would probably leave him again, because underneath all of that jaded cynicism, he still wanted a normal life. And Dean would be okay with that, because it would make Sam happy, and of course Dean wanted Sam to be happy.

Castiel, though. Dean wanted Castiel to be happy too, but the difference was, Castiel had once told Dean he wanted to try everything in the world with him and he seemed happiest when it was just the two of them, and that's what made this exhilarating. Well, technically speaking, Castiel seemed least melancholy when it was just the two of them, but Dean was working on that. He wanted to deserve this. And he'd promised himself, after all, that if Castiel came back, he'd be the best friend an angel ever had. Then Castiel had come back, so Dean was working on his end of the deal.

Today, his end of the deal involved teaching Castiel how to hustle pool. As it turned out, though, Castiel was terrible at both hustling and pool.

"Cas," Dean sighed, eyeing the seven remaining balls on the table. One of them was the eight ball, of course, and the other six were Castiel's, because he'd only managed to sink one ball during the entire game. (And even that one had been a fluke; he'd been aiming for a different ball entirely.) "Are you even trying?"

Castiel paused before making another doomed shot and glanced up at him. "Yes," he replied earnestly, which made it that much sadder.

"Can't you just angel mojo it or something?" Dean asked under his breath, too quietly for any of the bar's other patrons to hear.

Almost as if on cue, Castiel's head tilted. "I don't wish to cheat you out of your rightful victory."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I've had four rightful victories in a row now, and it's getting old. Come on, let's see what you got, angel."

"Cheating is wrong," Castiel said flatly.

"Letting someone destroy the world is wrong," Dean replied lightly. "Cheating is strategic."

Castiel considered this for a moment. "But you are not my enemy."

"This is a game," Dean said wryly. "And in this case, I am your opponent." Castiel still looked dubious, though, so he added, "Look, I'm trying to teach you how to hustle here, Cas. So how about this: you make a comeback, and I'll buy you another shot of Godiva." Dean had finally found liqueur that Castiel actually liked earlier in the evening, and now Castiel seemed to perk up some.

Chocolate was apparently worth cheating Dean out of his rightful victory for, because the next thing Dean knew, Castiel had made his shot without bothering much with the aiming, and all the balls on the table bounced off each other until every one of Castiel's found a pocket and the eight ball came to rest right in the corner. Castiel sunk it easily and then shot Dean a smug look.

Dean's eyes were still bulging slightly, but it didn't take him long to recover. He whistled quietly and clapped Castiel on the back, and then froze. Dean had been careful about not touching Castiel since the kissing fiasco because he wasn't sure if it was okay anymore, but then he'd gotten comfortable again and this was his first slip-up. He waited, half fearfully, for Castiel to tense up or jerk away or both, but Castiel didn't do either.

"I believe you owe me a shot," he said, still eyeing Dean smugly.

Dean relaxed and gave him a small grin, and because it was apparently okay after all, he took Castiel by the arm and pulled him over to the bar. Castiel let him, and Dean? Yeah, Dean could be content with this.

***

Half an hour later, he had explained when to play like shit and when to bust out the angel mojo and deemed Castiel ready for the real thing. Some stocky biker who walked and talked like he was hot shit came over to challenge Castiel to a game (he hadn't used his mojo again since the group of them had come in), and Dean shrugged in response to Castiel's questioning glance.

"Have at it," he said, and Castiel took out the wad of cash Dean had slipped into his pocket earlier. Dean saw the guy eyeing it and smirked inwardly.

Just as he'd been instructed, Castiel lost the first two games and eighty bucks quite miserably. He even glared at the biker (though Dean guessed it was more likely due to the guy's foul mouth than any conscious effort on Castiel's part to appear frustrated), and then the stakes were raised, but not quite high enough.

Dean frowned dutifully and tugged on Castiel's arm, saying, "Come on, Cas, I think you've had enough for tonight."

"I'd leave him be if I were you," the biker growled, and his three equally stocky friends looked up from their table to give Dean matching hard looks. "We were gonna play another game."

So far so good, then, Dean thought, until Castiel looked at him and said, "Alright," and let Dean pull him away from the table.

Dean sighed inwardly, but he had no choice but to go through with it now, so when the biker protested, he said placatingly, "Look, man, I'll cover for him, okay?" And since Dean had made a show of playing just as shittily as Castiel had earlier, the guy agreed reluctantly after a tense moment.

"I'll be right back," Dean told him, and led Castiel over to a booth on the opposite side of the table from where the biker's buddies were hanging out. "So much for that," he said dryly once they were out of earshot and Castiel was sitting down.

Castiel tilted his head and asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

Dean rolled his eyes and barely resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. "Don't worry about it, Cas, I got this. Just wait here, okay?"

Castiel nodded, and Dean headed back over to the pool table.

The longer the game went on, the more pissed the biker got. By the time Sam called ("Man! I Feel Like A Woman" came blaring out from Dean's pocket), no doubt to tell Dean to pick him up from the library, Dean was pretty sure his answering it would give the jackass just the excuse he needed to pick the fight he was obviously itching to pick. So Dean turned around to call, "Cas, catch," and tossed his phone over.

Castiel caught it easily, but instead of answering it, he merely looked down at the vibrating phone and flashing screen in vague confusion. Dean didn't wait to see if he'd figure it out before turning back around and taking his shot. He sunk one ball and missed his next shot, and when Dean looked up again, Castiel had managed to open the phone and was holding it tentatively to his ear but looking even more confused. Dean guessed that he'd waited too long and Sam wasn't on the other end anymore, and sighed to himself. He was just glad no one else had seemed to notice Castiel's inability to operate a cell phone.

When Sam called a second time, the phone was still open and Castiel held it up, still ringing, to his ear. Even though Dean couldn't hear him from where he was, he could see Castiel's lips form Sam's name a few times, but he obviously hadn't actually answered the call yet and Dean made a slightly despairing mental note to teach him how to use the phone later.

He ended up winning the game, of course, but the asshole he'd hustled had bigger arms and fists than Dean, not to mention bigger friends. When Dean demanded he pay up, they came over to flank him, and he growled, "I'm not givin' you shit, you cheating motherfucker."

Dean knew he couldn't take all four of them and wasn't about to bust out his weapons against civilians, even the ones who were jackasses, but he sneered anyway. "You're the cheating motherfucker here, we played a fair game and you lost."

The four bikers took threatening steps toward Dean, but he stood his ground and then suddenly the floor beneath them trembled dangerously. The whole bar shook from it, and lights blew out and the music turned to static, leaving only the sound of glasses smashing to the floor and drunken girls yelling in panic amidst the rumbling. Dean reckoned smugly that he looked pretty impressive right about now.

He smirked at the alarmed looks on the bikers' faces, but his voice was hard. "I suggest you give me my money, boys."

And perhaps it was only because there had been demons in town until earlier that day, but they seemed perfectly willing to believe that Dean was something supernatural, and the guy who'd lost to him practically threw three hundred dollars at him before hurrying away to catch up with his friends. As soon as they were gone, the bar stilled and the music came back on, and the lights that hadn't blown out lit again.

Dean spun around. Castiel was sitting demurely at the booth, right where Dean had left him, eyes still fixed on the phone in his hand. Dean grinned and went over to join him. "That more than made up for failing at hustling. Damn, but it's convenient having a guardian angel on my shoulder," he said cheekily.

"Dean," Castiel began, giving him a disapproving, exasperated look. "You shouldn't--"

But Dean cut him off with a roll of his eyes. "I know, I know. I'll make it up to you, your next dinner's on me."

"But you always pay when I eat," Castiel pointed out dubiously.

"Yeah, well, you are the girl in this relationship, after all," he teased. Castiel didn't look impressed. Dean smirked. "So, did you manage to talk to Sam?"

"He left you a voice message," Castiel replied stiffly.

Dean chuckled and took the phone from him, but decided teasing Castiel just wasn't fun when it was this easy. "If the phone isn't already open, opening it will answer the call automatically," he explained, opening the phone for Castiel to see. "If it is already open, you have to press the talk button." Dean showed him where it was. "Pressing and holding 1 will take you to voice mail." He finally held the phone out to Castiel, who glanced at him before pressing and holding the 1 button until the screen read, 'Dialing Voicemail'. Dean winked at him as he listened to Sam's whiny voice whining at him about being picked up, and Castiel looked less disgruntled.

"Come on, time to go," Dean said, closing the phone with a snap and standing up. Despite his words, though, he stopped to buy Castiel another shot of Godiva on their way out. (The bartender seemed jumpy and stressed, still, so he tossed the poor sod extra tip with a droll, "Sorry about the mess.")

***

Dean got to believe he finally had someone who wouldn't leave him for all of a week. It was a pretty glorious week, apocalypse aside, but that only made it sting all the more when Dean woke up one morning and Castiel said, without preamble, "I should return to my garrison."

That had Dean shoving the covers off of himself and sitting up immediately. Castiel was perched on the edge of his bed, watching him expectantly. "What?" he asked, and it came out sounding more like a croak than a word. Dean wasn't sure if his voice was rough from sleep or panicked dismay, but he cleared his throat and hissed, "Are you mad? They'll kill you!"

"I will take precautions," Castiel told him. "And I will only show myself to one of them at a time."

Dean shook his head and glanced around the small room almost wildly. He couldn't deal with this right now, he'd just woken up, for fuck's sake, and he hadn't had any coffee yet and his stupid fucking angel wanted to leave him and get himself killed. And Sam was gone. "Where's Sam?" he asked, more out of a need to stall and collect his wits than out of any real worry that Sam was in danger. Castiel watched over them both, after all.

"Out getting breakfast."

"You can't go," Dean said, almost before Castiel had finished speaking.

"Lucifer is most likely gathering an army against Heaven as we speak, and Zachariah is doing nothing about it," Castiel told him, eyes narrowing.

"That's why you can't go!" Dean retorted. "Jesus, Cas, have you forgotten what happened the last time you tried to talk to him?"

Castiel stiffened. "No. But I'm not going to talk to Zachariah; I'm going to talk to my other brothers."

"And what makes you think they'll believe you if Zach didn't?"

"I..." Castiel trailed off and his gaze flickered away for a moment before he admitted, "I don't know. But I must try anyway."

Dean was incredulous. "And what are you hoping they'll do, take your word for it and rebel like you did? From what you've told me about angels, I somehow doubt that's gonna happen. And even if you do get one or two of them to join you, it's not gonna make a difference, Cas. If Zachariah doesn't fry them first, Lucifer will bake them the second they try something. And you too, probably."

Castiel frowned, a little helplessly. "I can't just stand by while Lucifer plots to take over Heaven, Dean."

"Well, you can't do this, either," Dean snapped.

They lapsed into a tense silence, until Castiel let his gaze fall and he said, uncertainly, "You told me once that I didn't have to follow anyone's orders anymore." He looked back up at Dean. "Doesn't that include yours?"

Dean pulled back, stung. His eyes were wide, and his chest felt tight, and he breathed, "It's not an order, Cas." Except it was, in a way, and now Dean felt like the selfish jackass who couldn't even be supportive of Castiel's first real attempt at independent thought and action after an eternity of blind obedience and then months of following Dean around just because he didn't want to lose him. But it was suicidal and pointless, what he wanted to do, so maybe, just this once, it would be better to make an exception to the whole 'encouraging Castiel to make his own choices' thing. It made Dean feel like some kind of sick control freak and it twisted something heavy into his gut, but he said pleadingly, "I'm asking you."

And that was all it took for Castiel to lower his eyes in a nod of reluctant concession. Dean didn't feel triumphant. He suddenly couldn't quite bring himself to look at Castiel, so he looked at the defeated set of his shoulders instead, which didn't turn out to be any better, and tried to tell himself that this was in Castiel's best interests.

He didn't feel any less guilty two minutes later when Sam came back with breakfast.

***

Castiel seemed more subdued in the next few days -- he didn't seem as interested in anything Dean said, he wasn't as eager to try new things with him, and he even seemed distracted on hunts -- and even though Dean tried not to take it personally, it ate at him. He knew that Castiel was undoubtedly safer here, with him, but he kept wondering how long he could keep him here for before Castiel decided that this was bullshit and left anyway. Dean should have known better than to think Castiel would actually stay with him, and that came with a measure of bitterness even though Castiel wanting to leave had nothing to do with Dean.

He felt a lot like he had back when Sam had been in high school and thoughts of college had started stirring in his head: helpless and hurt, and like everything was going to slip out from between his fingers no matter how hard he tried to hold on to them because Dean just wasn't enough anymore.

This wasn't college, though. Castiel didn't want to go off and better his life. He wanted to go off and risk ending it, and that was the only thing that kept Dean from going over to him and apologizing for being so selfish. Still, he knew it was selfish. When it came down to it, Dean really just didn't want to be left. He didn't want to lose Castiel's easy friendship and quiet affection, or the way Castiel would sometimes look at him, like he was worth more than all the good things in the world put together. The darkest, most private part of Dean just didn't want to lose the way Castiel so obviously needed him.

Dean hated that part of himself. It made him wonder if he'd have been any more supportive if Castiel's independent thinking had led him to some safer course of action, and was ashamed to admit that he might not have been.

So, Dean didn't know what to do. And doing nothing wasn't an option either, since he could tell Castiel was still thinking about it every day, just as he was, and eventually all this thinking would have to come to a head.

"Sam," he began hesitantly, and his little brother glanced sideways at him.

"What's up?"

Dean kept his eyes on the road, but he was gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than was strictly necessary. "Say I wanted -- needed, actually -- to do something crazy. Would you let me?"

Sam snorted and pointed out, "You always need to do something crazy."

"Just answer the question, Sam," Dean said, and his tone was enough to make Sam begin to look concerned.

"Last time I checked, you didn't give a damn what anyone did or didn't let you do, unless it was Dad."

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, well, say this isn't about me."

"Cas?" Apparently Sam was more perceptive than Dean had given him credit for, or perhaps it was only obvious because there was basically no one else Dean could possibly have been talking about. Either way, he didn't answer, but that was all the answer Sam needed. "What does he want to do?"

"He wants to go back to the angels and try to convince those spineless dicks that Lucifer's gonna attack Heaven and they should rebel and do something about it." Dean couldn't help it; it came out sounding mocking and a tiny bit bitter.

Sam was quiet for awhile. "Well, it is his home and family," he said eventually.

Dean gave him a brief glare. "I know that. But it's suicidal."

"Would that stop you?" Sam asked pointedly.

Selling his soul to Hell came to mind. Dean looked away stonily to glare at the road instead.

Sam sighed. "Look, Dean, I don't know what you should do, but all I'm saying is, it might not be up to you. I mean, you wouldn't even let us keep you at Bobby's, and had to give us the slip even when it wasn't about your home or family. Castiel might not be as obnoxiously reckless as you are, but if he makes up his mind, there's no way you're gonna stop him from flying off."

He was right, of course, but Dean had already known that. That's what he'd been so afraid of this entire time. But hearing Sam say it made Dean think that maybe it didn't matter what he wanted after all. Castiel was going to do whatever he had to do, and as long as it didn't get him killed, the independence would be better for him, in the long run. Perhaps the best Dean could do would be to help him come up with the safest plan possible and pray that not being a complete asshole about it would make Castiel want to come back after it was all over. But the problem remained; he didn't think it would be over anytime soon, or that both of them would even still be alive at the end.

Dean gritted his teeth and kept on driving.

***

Two days later, Dean still hadn't said anything about it. Sure, he'd tried -- called Castiel over, opened his mouth, and then... said something about maybe getting an FBI badge made for him, or that his coat would look ridiculous on him when summertime came, or something else that implied Castiel would still be around, alive and kicking it with Dean, in the foreseeable future. Dean couldn't help grasping at those straws. If Castiel noticed, he didn't comment on it.

In fact, he didn't comment on much of anything that didn't have to do with their current case anymore, unless asked a direct question, and seeing him so troubled and withdrawn again made Dean restless. It made him feel guilty, too, because he was the coward who kept trying to let Castiel go and chickening out at the last moment.

But maybe Dean could get through this if he eased into it, let Castiel talk first. With that thought in mind, he left the motel room and went outside, intending to call Castiel down.

Castiel was already in the parking lot. And so was Michael.

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore, and stalked toward them angrily. He had no idea what the archangel wanted this time or what he'd do when he got there, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that he hadn't been nearly angry enough the last time Michael had shown his face, because Dean hadn't known, then, just how fucked up Castiel still was, and all because this asshole had thrown him, half dead and unable to protect himself, to the demons. In fact, Dean wouldn't be surprised if he'd shared some fucking popcorn with Zachariah while they'd watched Castiel suffer. He didn't care if he was being brash; he was going to give the motherfucker a good chunk of his mind--

Both angels turned to him, Castiel looking incredibly uneasy and Michael looking faintly annoyed, and then suddenly Dean was frozen in place. He couldn't move, and he couldn't even talk. All he could do was glare at Michael in absolute fury, but then, judging from the way the archangel glanced at Castiel, Dean thought maybe his sudden immobility was Castiel's doing. It didn't lessen his anger that much.

A moment later, Michael seemed to have forgotten he was there, still seething impotently. "Well?" he demanded of Castiel in that prissy British accent that Dean wanted to punch him in the mouth for, "If you still serve God, as you claim, then explain your rebellion."

"I," Castiel began haltingly, and even though he'd turned back around and Dean couldn't quite see his face anymore, Dean could tell he was nervous. "I am not sure Zachariah still serves God."

Michael's eyes narrowed, and he took a threatening step toward Castiel, who was taller but who, whether consciously or not, took two steps away, not straight backward but angled toward Dean. "You dare to question an angel who has seen the face of our Father?" the archangel growled.

"I can't see how God could want humanity, His favored creation, burned out of existence like this," Castiel replied uncomfortably.

"You can't see God at all!" Michael snapped, and Castiel tensed even further. "You never have. So how can you be so sure?"

Dean could picture the small frown on Castiel's face perfectly as he replied in a quiet, almost timid voice, "I'm not."

Wrong answer, apparently. It seemed to anger Michael further, for some reason, and even Dean could feel the air around them become more oppressing with the archangel's darkening expression. All he could do was swallow, momentarily distracted from his own anger by a healthy fear, and Castiel moved even closer toward him.

Michael regarded Castiel with narrowed eyes for a long, hard moment before he finally asked, "Then why did you do it?"

Castiel's voice was still quiet, but it was stronger now and he didn't hesitate before saying simply, "For Dean."

And now Dean was no longer angry or afraid, only kind of awed. He still couldn't move his head, but he stared at what he could see of Castiel with wide eyes, breath hitching and mind trying to wrap itself around this. He'd assumed Castiel had done it because he'd seen that Dean was right; that it had been for humanity, and the world, and everything else. This was... personal.

But he didn't get to dwell on it for too long, because when the archangel's fierce gaze shifted over to Dean, he had to force himself not to flinch. Suddenly he couldn't believe he'd actually stabbed this guy. Dean didn't doubt for a second that Michael could turn him and this entire goddamned state to dust, quite literally, without so much as blinking, such was the force of the power that seemed to roll off of his vessel in unrelenting waves. Being scrutinized by Michael was every bit as terrifying as being scrutinized by Lucifer, and Dean felt exposed down to his very last atom.

Castiel stepped carefully between them, breaking off Michael's stare and forcing the archangel to look at himself instead, but he was now standing directly in front of Dean, so close they were almost touching. Castiel added, "And because I thought it was the right thing to do."

Michael ignored it and said slowly, "You value the friendship of this one human above that of all of your brethren?"

"Yes," Castiel said, and Dean couldn't believe he'd ever been bitter about Castiel wanting to return to his garrison to save them. Fuck, but he was an entitled, possessive, ungrateful son of a bitch.

"Why?"

"Because he's Dean," Castiel replied, as if this was the most obvious explanation in the world. "You've seen him." Dean arched his eyebrows, not that anyone could see.

Michael seemed equally dubious. "I've seen that he is foul-mouthed, carnal, and obnoxious."

Castiel shifted on his feet and pressed back ever so slightly, so that Dean's frozen arm brushed against his own. "That's not untrue," he began carefully, and Dean huffed a little, "but look more closely." Despite his words, though, Castiel didn't move aside to let Michael look at him again, which was probably for the best since Dean was pretty sure the archangel wouldn't see much more in him anyway.

"Your human doesn't interest me," Michael said haughtily, and Dean was actually relieved because it sounded like he might finally leave.

But Castiel had other ideas. "Wait," he said, and even Michael's pause felt impatient, though Dean couldn't see his face. "I have reason to believe Lucifer may wage his war on Heaven rather than on Earth."

There was another pause before Michael asked, "Have you tried to speak with Zachariah about this?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, and Dean could hear a touch of bitterness. "He won't listen to me."

And suddenly the archangel was back to being dismissive. "Then you have no business speaking to me about it either," he said, and Dean's hackles rose at his tone, but it wasn't like he could move and Michael was gone a moment later anyway.

The air around them lightened, and Dean breathed easier. Castiel's shoulders relaxed too, and when he turned around, Dean could move again. "You son of a bitch," he said immediately, without any heat. Castiel gave him a silent, long-suffering look, and Dean cracked a reluctant half-smile. "Are you alright?" Castiel had been pretty shaken up the last time Michael had visited, but he seemed more calm, today, especially now that they were alone again.

Castiel nodded slightly, and then looked away. But it wasn't an I'm not actually okay sort of looking away, Dean could tell, so he chose to believe him.

There were a hundred things he wanted to say -- questions about Michael, or about whether Castiel was really going to leave -- but he blurted, "Did you mean it?"

"Yes," Castiel replied. He knew what Dean meant, and when his eyes found Dean's again, they studied each other openly. Castiel's gaze picked Dean apart like Michael's had, but it didn't make Dean uncomfortable, not anymore. If Castiel wanted to inspect his atoms, well, Dean was alright with that. This was the angel who'd put them all back together for him, after all.

It occurred to Dean, suddenly, that they were standing really, awfully close, and it made him ask softly, before he could think twice about it, "You really think this is worth more than what you had with your brothers?" He thought of Sam, and couldn't see how that was possible. "I mean, I know they're dicks, but they're your brothers, Cas, and I have a feeling you guys go way back."

Castiel looked away again and pursed his lips thoughtfully. "They are," he said slowly, "but I am not sure I could call them my friends."

"What, angels don't have buddies to hang out with?" Dean asked skeptically. "No holding hands and singing songs about God?"

"The bonds between some angels are stronger than those between others," Castiel admitted. "I have never had a particularly strong bond with any of my brothers."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "So, what are you saying, you were the dweeb who ate lunch by himself and always got picked last in gym?" Castiel tilted his head at Dean, who shook his head and said, "Sounds kinda lonely to me."

Castiel seemed to consider this for a moment, and then he looked at Dean and said, "But I have you now." And it would have been embarrassing, coming from anyone else, but this was Cas, and his tactless earnestness was kind of endearing, not to mention warming.

It made Dean scratch the back of his neck in mild self consciousness, but then he reminded himself of what he'd come out here to say in the first place and took a deep breath. "And yet you want to leave, huh."

"Leave?" Castiel echoed, seeming surprised. "I never intended to leave."

Dean was confused too. "But you wanted to go back to your garrison..."

"Not permanently," Castiel said, frowning.

"It'd be permanent if you got yourself killed," Dean muttered.

"I told you, Dean. I will take precautions."

"Will?" Dean's lips twisted. "So I guess you've made up your mind, huh."

The silence was enough of an answer, and something heavy settled in Dean's stomach. It seemed like Castiel was waiting for him to go on, but he didn't. Eventually, Castiel prompted hesitantly, "And you don't object?"

"Oh, I object," Dean snorted, "and I still think it's spectacularly stupid, but you shouldn't let my objections stop you from doing what you need to do, Cas." Castiel tilted his head at Dean and seemed at a loss for anything to say, so Dean shrugged and admitted, "Look, I was just being selfish, okay? I didn't want you to leave."

The way Castiel's lips quirked almost seemed like gratification. "I'll come back whenever you have need of me," he insisted, and somehow, Dean found himself believing him again. Maybe he was just desperate.

"So how sure are you that you'll be okay?" he asked, needing to know. It was on the tip of his tongue to make Castiel promise that he'd be alright because they still had to try everything in the world together, but Dean knew those sorts of promises were the emptiest and most foolish sort, and anyway that was more along the lines of something Sam might say, big damn girl that he was. Dean squared his shoulders.

Castiel lowered his gaze slightly, to the vicinity of Dean's neck. "I'll be careful," he promised, and even though it wasn't much of an answer, Dean knew it was all he was going to get and it had to be enough.

He felt kind of like a fussy mother watching her kid go off for his first day of school. This was ridiculous. Still, he couldn't resist asking lightly, "Want me to pack you a lunch?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," Castiel replied uncertainly.

Dean smirked even as he ached. "Alright. Uhm. Good luck?" A huge part of him wanted to reach out and grab hold of Castiel and never let go even as he said it, but he gritted his teeth and held still.

For a moment, Castiel looked kind of lost, and maybe even scared. But the moment passed, and he gave Dean a long, searching look. Then his gaze fell in assent and he was gone.

Dean closed his eyes and prayed that he would come back.

Part 12

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

eggblue.livejournal.com

Happy Birthday !!! <3

So much great fic to read - I will read it too. I need some Dean/Cas inspiration and your fics ALWAYS make me want to write.

More importantly, I hope you had a great b-day :)

From:

fancy a fuck?

Fic: And I Will Walk On Water (11/18)

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